Latum Alterum
by C. Rinkuki Takato
Summary: The Other Side - Edogawa Conan knew he should have been more aware. He knew that those kids, those actual kids were actually way too curious for their own good. A slip was all it took for everything to go downhill for a certain detective, who, as a consequence of his sloppiness, was stranded somewhere familiar, yet not-so familiar. What, and where on earth is he? M for violence


**Challenge/prompt #1 from DA's takarafrost:** _Conan (alone) in parallel universe, minimum 2 pages long (formatting up to the author)._

 ** _DISCLAIMER:_ I don't own anything, but this story. The original material(s), implied or explicitly written, belong(s) to its/their respective owner(s). ** Are we clear? Good.

 _ **SPOILER WARNING!  
**_ If you haven't reach the point where a _**CERTAIN 3-LETTER ALCOHOL (or a CERTAIN clue related to it)**_ is officially mentioned, _**STEER CLEAR**. _ The spoilers are, however, _ **NOT limited to that point.  
YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!**_

 **Other warnings:  
** \- possible OOCness.  
\- things don't make sense or "screw logic/physics".

 **Changelog:**

 **July 30th, 2016:**  
\- Published, self-beta-ed.

 **April 17th, 2017:  
** \- Added "Changelog"  
\- Changed rating from "T" to "M" due to violence (just noticed it...)

* * *

Edogawa Conan knew he should have been more aware. He knew that those kids, those _actual_ kids were actually _way_ too curious for their own good, even when they _were_ kids. He knew that, even if he didn't have his deductive ability—he cringed at the mere thought that he lost his detective skills. Yet, this one time, he managed to actually let his guard down so much that those kids were able to slip into Agasa's lab without his knowledge.

 _Haibara would be having a field trip with how reckless I've been_ , the shrunken detective dimly thought. Conan dimly noted how his body ache all over, his limbs refusing the commands his brain issued _to_ _move_. He still felt the reassuring weight of his glasses along with his bowtie in his pocket, but that was it; he didn't feel his enhancing kick shoes, his tranquilizer/flashlight wristwatch. He was down two very useful gadgets, which could be very problematic for him, should he run into any criminals or other dangerous people. In the body of a seven-year-old, the detective wasn't exactly threatening as it only took a very strong hand of an adult to snap his neck, or suffocate him to death.

He regretted thinking that most of Agasa's inventions were junk.

Conan coughed as some dust entered his mouth, drying and making his throat hurt. The seven-year-old scrunched up his nose, frowning as he forced his eyes to just _open already_. As his azure eyes opened, the boy immediately closed as light, _much too bright_ in his personal opinion, entered his retinas. After a moment of recomposing himself, Conan squinted his eyes, and waited for his sight to adjust to the bright sunlight. As soon as he felt that the light wasn't burning his eyes anymore, he turned his head sideways as best as he could with his position; lying face down on the ground, his arms at his sides and his legs _mostly_ straight.

All around him were rubbles. Judging from the red among the grey on the pieces of the rubble, he'd say that the rubbles were remains of a more modern day building. He didn't see any tall wall standing; the tallest was probably only 4.9 feet tall. All the remaining walls had cracks, but not numerous enough to be caused from an earthquake. He still didn't have enough proof, but Conan would say the building was destroyed by artificial means, say, explosives or construction vehicles. Some walls and rubbles had a greenish tint to them, and Conan had a feeling that those were moss; some of them were rather chocolate—a little dried, while some of them which were lucky enough to be mostly shaded were a bit dark green. While moss growth varies on the species and other factors, including the weather, its presence indicated that the building's destruction wasn't recent. The fact that he spied some weeds and other wild vegetation growing on the cracked floor also supported that theory. The crumbling walls and cracked floor had struck him as familiar, but he couldn't quite put his fingers on it…

Shaking his head, wincing when he felt it throb in protest, Conan decided to at least stand up before continuing his assessment of his environments. That, and his neck had started to hurt from the posture. _It certainly reminds me of that one day when I faked being unconscious during the Kirin's Horn heist,_ he thought. The detective grunted as he forced his hands to lift his body, his arms shaking with the exertion. His measly arm muscles protested as he forced his arms to obey his command. The boy's arms shook worse as he lifted himself further, and as soon as he was lifted enough, he moved his legs so that he was squatting with his fingers still touching the ground.

Conan sighed in relief. _At least I managed this much,_ he mused. _Better find out where I am this time._ The grade-schooler tried to stand, but found that he was still too dizzy to maintain his balance, and considering that he didn't want to greet the ground so soon after just getting himself off it, he decided against standing up, and opted instead to crane his neck left and right.

There weren't much to add from his previous observations. Granted, now he could see a lot better that his line of vision was a _little bit_ higher that before, but it wasn't _**that**_ higher. He eyed the trees; they were tall, but looked unkempt—obviously, they weren't attended for a _long_ time. For how long, he still didn't have enough data to know; he didn't know how they were kept before whoever it was stopped caring for them. He eyed the destroyed front gate; it looked like it was thrown or broken through with great force that the hinges snapped, and some of the bars were bent—at least, as far as he could see. The gate also looked like it had been rusting for some time, months, in the very least.

Not that any of those _actually_ clued him in on his own location. Conan sighed exasperatedly, his shoulders sagging in sync with his mood. _Oh, Genta, what trouble do you land me in_ _ **this**_ _time?_ The detective then slapped his hand against his forehead, immediately regretting it as his head throbbed at the abuse. _Okay, Shinichi, I know you're pissed, but hitting your head when there's a possibility of a concussion is a_ **bad** _idea._

Before he could make any other observations, he shivered as a chill traveled down his spine, accompanied by a certain terror. His eyes widened, pupils dilating as the realization struck him. While he had felt this feeling often, this **particular** kind was unique only to a _certain_ type of people. A certain group of people _**dressed in black.**_ _T-This feeling! This kind of killer intent—who-?!_

That was the last thing he remembered before blinding pain on the back of his head struck him.

* * *

Edogawa Conan stopped in front of a familiar house, the one neighboring his own true house. When he passed his—that is, the _Kudou_ 's house, he noticed Okiya's shadow from one of the upper floor's windows. He had to hold back a knowing or a fond smile—he knew Okiya knew Conan knew that he (Okiya) noticed him—he mentally cheered when he came up with the twist, and understand it with no problem. It never ceased to please him to know that his mind was still in peak condition. Conan scowled as a memory was recalled. _Haibara knew it wasn't funny to say that my nervous system would deteriorate after being exposed to the prototype antidote._ She _was the one who offered it to me in the first place,_ he mentally ranted. It wasn't the first time Haibara pranked him, but that evil gleam in her eyes was downright sadistic…

Ah, if only the kids knew just how much of a closet sadist Haibara was.

Conan shuddered. Anyway, as he pushed the gate of Agasa's residence open, he schooled his face into something a little more neutral; it wouldn't do to scare the professor off just because of some memory _he_ would rather forget. Speaking of the professor, the shrunken detective couldn't help but think about how _elated_ his (currently not) neighbor when he called him. _The professor said as much that he invented something. But what could make him so_ _ **elated**_ _?_ He shook his head as he pressed the doorbell.

" _Who is that?"_ a snappy, flat, teenage girl's voice asked through the intercom.

 _If_ _ **this**_ _is how she answered the door, it was no wonder those fake construction men mistook Haibara as a middle schooler…_ Conan sighed before replying, "It's me."

There was a pause before she answered again, _"And who is 'me'?"_

Conan growled mentally, his eyebrow twitching in annoyance. _That she-devil…_ "You know who I am, Haibara," he answered, his tone snappier than he thought it would. Not that he regretted it, of course—he could practically _feel_ Haibara smirking evilly, just from her voice alone. Even when it was still as flat as ever.

" _Oh? Really?"_ came the deadpan. The Heisei Holmes could practically feel a vein above his eye throbbing violently.

" _Ai-kun,"_ came the reprimand. Conan could hear her sighing in disappointment in the background. It was barely there, but it was there. _"Wait a moment,"_ a rather elderly male voice called out. The door was _finally_ opened, and "Sorry about that, Conan-kun," said the balding professor, "I was making sure that the device is fine tuned."

Conan shook his head in exasperation as he shoved his hands in his pants pockets. "Somehow, that remark worry me, Professor. But, at least you've improved," he quipped.

"Hey, now—,"

Conan shot him a victorious, flat look, "If I recalled correctly, you were still blowing up the _walls of your fence_ after I was—"

"Professor actually blew his wall?!" came a loud, familiar voice.

" _Mou_ , Genta-kun, I know we know the Professor, but it's rude to just barge in, even when the door **was** open," came the second boyish voice.

"That's right, Genta-kun," a girlish voice admonished him. "What if the Professor thought we were thieves, breaking in to steal his invention?"

Both the boy and the elderly stopped, their shoulders visibly cringing. _What are_ _ **they**_ _doing here?_ came the thought in unison in their minds. An additional thought came across Conan's mind, _That was close… I almost said 'after I was shrunken'_

Talk about close call…

"It would be Edogawa-kun who would have thought that way," Haibara corrected. Even without seeing her face, one could already feel that she had a devious smirk screaming ' _this is_ _ **my**_ _revenge'_ plastered on her face. The kids were a bit denser, but they'd feel this one, too. "And most of the Professor's invention are junks, anyway."

 _Sorry, Professor, but it's apparent that others thought of your inventions that way anyway._

The inventor whimpered, the sound akin to the lower version of a kicked puppy. Conan would have patted him in the shoulder if that action wouldn't look so odd. To think Kojima Genta, Tsuburaya Mitsuhiko, and Yoshida Ayumi were on the same page with him when it came to the Professor's inventions wasn't a surprise. It _did_ make him wonder just how they knew that; as far as he could recall, the kids were never at the receiving end of the failed experiments.

Unlike him. Especially **that one** certain incident which involved an automated barber machine, and his real mother.

The shrunken detective winced. His and his dad's ears were ringing for _days_ after that horrifying incident. It was then that the both of them knew just how shrill can one Kudou Yukiko scream/shriek. The two men of the Kudou household were convinced that they lost at least some hearing in both of their ears. It certainly felt like their ears were bleeding… It was _only one_ of the many unspeakable accidents from the Professor's invented machines.

Sometimes it made him wonder just how the professor graduated if those were his works. Then again, the successful ones were pretty great. Not that he would mention it, though; the Professor's ego didn't need any more inflating.

Ah, we're digressing.

With a resigned sigh, the two turned, their deadpan expression identical. "What are you guys doing here? Didn't you say you're going to do a project at Genta's house?" Conan asked, his tone as deadpan as his face, but it wasn't unkind, and the kids knew it.

Genta shuffled his feet, drawing an invisible pattern with the toe of his slippers, his index fingers meeting. "Ah… Err…" The Heisei Holmes didn't budge, even as Mitsuhiko and Ayumi copied their heavier classmate—for the lack of better word. Conan raised an eyebrow, silently asking _'well?'_. The grade-schooler was vaguely aware of Agasa slowly inching away from the kids. Conan filed it mentally for later. _That's odd… Usually the Professor doesn't do that. Guess that means whatever he invented wasn't for these kids._ He'd interrogate him later—the kids had to taught manners, _actual_ manners, first. He maintained his disapproving looks.

Mitsuhiko was the one to cave. He visibly slumped as he answered, "Well, we _were_ going to, but then we remembered that we also asked Haibara-san for help, and re-arranged to meet here."

Conan raised both his eyebrows skeptically. He craned his neck to look at said person in the eye, over the other boy's shoulder.

Haibara shrugged, her expression nonchalant. "Well, they only needed some hint" Her expression turned deadpan. "Since a certain deduction geek is too intelligent to give the kids some of the simpler riddles or something not coming from some Holmes book."

Conan blushed. "It can't be helped," he retorted indignantly, "Ran-neechan was already giving me weird looks when I kept thinking about making some riddles even over the dinner table, and with how they—" he looked pointedly at the guilty party "—kept badgering me on the riddles, I just didn't have enough time to actually _make_ one." _Ran_ _ **might**_ _have shot me suspicious looks because I keep muttering under my breath about riddles, cases, and whatnot, though. Not that I'm telling Haibara_ **that**.

When he finally finished retorting, he saw the incredulous look on the three children who had asked him to train them in solving riddles by giving them riddles to solve.

Haibara was smirking. It took him less than a second staring at her face before it dawned on him the reason why.

 _Damn that woman… No, damn that_ _ **she-devil.**_

Conan huffed, his expression positively vexed. "Now that Haibara actually made me spoil the essential clue, as in, the source of the riddles, I'm sure you guys can solve it in a jiffy." He turned, stuffing his hands in his pockets with more force than was necessary. "Anyway, I have something to say with the Professor." He snapped around, his eyes and right index finger pointing at the kids accusingly, "And don't eavesdrop on us. We're talking about some grown up business you guys shouldn't get into."

As he walked away, he could vaguely hear how Genta was questioning how _he,_ also _seven-year-old_ like them, was talking like he could speak about adult's business while they couldn't. He also heard how Haibara dismissively said that he (Conan) loved to associate himself with grown-ups.

 _And I could picture her looking at my direction with_ that _look in her eyes, too._

* * *

Conan stared incredulously at the massive machine in the middle of the room. It looked like a circular pedestal, with six pointed things surrounding it, the tips were high enough that Conan thought they _could_ touch the ceiling were they any higher. Looked much like how a spider's legs looked like when it died, rolled to its back, its legs coiled. All of Detective Boys and the Professor could stand in the middle with room to spare. It wasn't the shape that actually threw him off, though. It was what the Professor declared as its function.

"So, you're telling me that somehow you found the possibility that there are parallel universes out there, somewhere _seemingly_ invisible?"

The inventor nodded enthusiastically, his grin threatening to split his face in halves. "That's right, Shinichi." He gestured to the machine. "I was trying to make some sort of anti-gravitational field, a _small one_ , if you will. After I made the whole calculations that _should_ make this machine do just that, I placed a defective version of your glasses. The second I activated the machine, though, I was shocked to see that the glasses were sucked into nothing by a dark swirl that formed right in the middle of the machine. And I saw—and felt—that some other things were also drawn to the small, dark swirls. It was starting to growl larger, and cause the ceiling lights to flicker." Conan frowned. "It shouldn't have happened, so I turned the machine off. Mere second before I did, though, another set of glasses, extremely identical to your own, was expelled."

Conan frowned even further. He asked skeptically, "Couldn't it have been the _very same_ glasses that disappeared?"

Agasa shook his head, his expression sobered. "I thought so, Shinichi, so I took it. But I accidentally pressed the small button here—" he pointed to the side his own circular glasses' frame, where the button would have been "—and the glasses' tracking function actually worked. And when I examined it further, there are also cracks on the lenses, dents on the frame, dust and grit. All of which _shouldn't_ be there. And if they aren't convincing enough, I checked the whole thing."

"Oh, really?"

"Yep."

"Where's the proof, then?"

The inventor deflated. "I seem to have misplaced it."

Conan stared at him, his face screaming _really, Professor?_

Said professor blushed to the tip of his balding head.

The shrunken neighbor could only shake his head, as he said, "Well, then let's look for it."

"Ah," Agasa exclaimed, scampering to the controls of the machine. "Regardless, I wanted you to see it in action, Shinichi—perhaps _you_ could come up with something?" He glanced to the boy, and Conan could not help but think that the look the elder shot him was a _little_ too victorious to be a simple trick of the mind.

The shrunken Kudou Shinichi sighed. _That, or maybe you wanted to trump me this once._

The machine hummed as its creator tinkered with the control. From the gradually increasingly louder, and low humming sound it was making, it was easy to guess that Agasa was turning it on. As he straightened up, he said, "There. Now, we'll leave it to warm up while we're looking for that evidence."

That suspiciously victorious sounding tone of the word made the shrunken Kudou Shinichi wish to roll his eyes.

* * *

 _In hindsight, that was probably one of the worst mistake we could have made. We both forgot that there were_ real _kids upstairs, kids with the tendency to roam around to places they don't belong. I should have locked the door, but I figured that we wouldn't be long, so I merely closed the door._

 _It never crossed my mind that the kids would have heard the hum and went to investigate…_

* * *

"Nee, Mitsuhiko," Ayumi whispered.

Said freckled boy automatically whispered back, used to the habit imparted by Conan during the cases they tend to stumble upon. "What is it, Ayumi-chan?"

"Are you sure we're supposed to be here?"

"I don't know," the taller boy confessed, "but the humming sound is too much to ignore." And unfortunately, with the amount of cases they had stumbled upon, especially with the bombed remote-controlled toy airplane, and the other bomb incidents, it made him paranoid of any sound that _should not_ be there.

 _Especially_ hums, clicks, and beeps.

Genta, who was the one in the back of the one line, was surprisingly the one who pointed out the source. "Isn't the noise coming from there?"

Ayumi and Mitsuhiko concentrated on it before the freckled boy nodded in affirmation. "It is." He exchanged looks with the other two kids. "Let's go, before Haibara-san came looking for us." It wasn't often that anything went by unnoticed by Haibara after all…

They nodded resolutely before carefully opening the door.

Then they saw the machine, the source of the humming. The three actual grade-schoolers were astonished by such machine. They didn't know what it was for, and what it was doing, but it still looked like some pretty advanced machinery to them. Ayumi stepped into the center of the pedestal, her face awed as she looked up at the machine limbs. Mitsuhiko was eyeing said limbs at the roots, from the outside of the pedestal.

It was what Genta did that catalyzed the future chain of events.

The larger boy muttered to himself, "What is this?" and he pressed the _one_ button.

The next thing everyone knew was a familiar shout of _'Genta, no!'_ , a dark swirl forming, before Ayumi was shoved out from the pedestal, and a blur was sucked into it, disappearing into the dark.

With a crack, the swirl collapsed on itself, blinking out of existence with a final spark of dark energy.

When Haibara Ai entered the room hastily, what she saw was Yoshida Ayumi in tears, Tsuburaya Mitsuhiko and Kojima Genta looked mortified (as in, _'I just killed someone'_ kind of mortification), and Agasa Hiroshi looked as pale as the dead.

It took all her power to simply force out the words, even as the sinking feeling of dread gathered in her belly. "What happened?"

* * *

His consciousness returned gradually.

"It could be you who are incompetent," a snarky woman remarked. The voice was somewhat familiar to his ears, but he couldn't quite place it.

"Shut it—it's not like you could do any better," a tenor-ish male voice retorted. It was familiar to his ears, too. "You knew that I was getting _her_ to safety, and _he_ wasn't there. How was I supposed to safe him when he wasn't even somewhere I knew? It's not like I could keep an eye on him for 24/7."

There was a frustrated snarl from the woman from before, before she snarled, "Don't you dare, _Bourbon_ —he was _my_ Cool Guy before you even _knew_ him."

 _Bourbon… Isn't that some alcoholic drink? …Wait._ _ **BOURBON**_ _?!_

Edogawa Conan jerked awake, his eyes snapping open that instant. His wide, blue eyes stared in open horror on the two figure sitting by the bedside he was lying on, both of whom were staring at him, paused in their argument. He took a quick note of their appearances; Amuro Tooru was dressed in a dark creamy t-shirt, wearing a pair of long rather-baggy dark brown pants, a gun (maybe a rifle) slung on his shoulder, resting on his back, his hair tousled and appearance generally dirtier than Conan remembered. Vermouth was dressed the same as Amuro, with the only difference being the color; she chose black from head to toe.

Vermouth was the first to react, "Ah, you're awake, Cool Guy." She smirked in that infuriating way of hers. "It's about time you showed up."

Conan blinked and let out an "eh?" in confusion. He'd cringe if he was more alert than he was right now.

Amuro dug into his pants pocket and produced a small, plain flashlight. "Kudou-kun, stay still," he ordered as he turned it on, and flashed it into his eyes, checking the dilation of the pupils.

But the impromptu patient wasn't paying attention, even as his eyes protested at the bright light. His mind was preoccupied with what Amuro, or rather _Bourbon_ , was calling him. All at once, the consequences of his sloppiness slapped him hard in the face, freezing the blood in his veins. The only thought that repeatedly run in his head was: _he knew I'm Kudou Shinichi! But how? Am I_ that _sloppy? No, no, no, no, no. Ran, the kids, the old man, everyone is in danger! What am I gonna do_ _ **now**_ _?!_

"Oi! Kudou-kun!" Conan started when he felt he was shaken, physically, and also yelled at. "Breathe," Amuro said, taking a deep breath himself. The shrunken detective mimicked him automatically. They repeated the motion for a bit. Conan found it quite ironic that Amuro was giving him another first aid; the first being when he was concussed by a flying racket. As he calmed down, his mind whirred, searching the possibilities. As he was lost in his own musing, Vermouth cleared her throat and pointedly—and _smugly_ at Amuro.

Amuro sighed. "Kudou-kun—I hope you don't mind I called you that." Not waiting for Conan's response, he continued, seating himself back to the small chair he was sitting in, "Things have been different since your disappearance—and we'll catch you up. After your true identity leaked out and reached the ears of the Boss, Gin was sent to clean up his own mess. He was positively _fuming_ when the Boss demanded that he do it, or else. The Organization found out about us, that is, most—if not _all_ NOC. It was a massacre."

Conan felt a lump in his throat. _All they had worked for, gone. Just like that._ He was almost afraid to ask, but he had to. "And? What happened after?"

It was Vermouth who answered him. "Gin was the one dispatched to spearhead the cleaning operation. He was positively _gleeful_ about it, and he brought along Kir, Chianti, Korn, and his partner Vodka. Kir was the only one showing any signs of reluctance, but she wiped it off her face when Gin almost turned on her."

"At least, that was what she wanted us to believe," Amuro interjected.

Conan blinked before the realization dawned on his face, "Don't tell me—?!"

Amuro nodded grimly, "Yes, it was all a farce."

"Kir then exposed that we, Vermouth and Bourbon, were another moles of the Organization," Vermouth continued, "Gin and Chianti then shot at us, but we were able to escape relatively unscathed. We don't know what happened afterwards in the headquarters, but when we saw the news about the cover up, it was clear that it was a bloodbath. There were also news of the dwellings of the Kudou, the Agasa, and the Mouri destroyed. They weren't the only ones, either." Vermouth closed her eyes, sighing as she braced herself, not that she needed to. "I'm sorry, Cool Guy, but there were no survivors. Not the old man, not the kids, not the clumsy detective." The blonde woman pursed her lips bitterly, her eyes conveying the same bitterness, the same self-loathing. "Not even the Angel."

Conan's body was rigid when he heard about the houses. But when he heard about the deaths, he felt his heart turn to ice, skipping a beat. Denial rang in his head, and when he saw Amuro shifting in his seat before speaking, deep down he knew it was true, no matter how hard he wanted to deny it.

Amuro looked at him in the eyes, his own pain visible in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Kudou-kun, but when Kir exposed us, she also exposed that some people who were supposed to be dead weren't dead. When Gin heard it, he apparently remembered about something Vodka had said, and I don't know how he made the connection, but he was laughing maniacally right then and there that he knew that there was a fox who kept getting in the way of the Organization. After the shot out, he went and slaughtered everyone, starting from Agasa-san."

Conan clenched his eyes shut, his knuckles white from how hard he was clenching his small fists. _Professor, even all of our attempts were enough._ He felt his eyes stinging with unshed tears. _I'm sorry; I know Haibara told me that I'm reckless, but it never actually registered to me. I'm so, so sorry, everyone._

A few awkward moments passed, none of them saying anything, the only noise being that of uneven breaths, and creaking of wood when either Amuro or Vermouth shifted in their seats.

Conan inhaled, his composure finally restored. "Alright, there's something you're not telling me," he declared. Vermouth's lips twitched. It was _very_ brief, but the shrunken Heisei Holmes' eyes were still as sharp as ever, and he caught the minute movement. He glared openly at the woman, demanding explanation.

The woman openly laughed at that expression. "As expected from you, detective; it didn't escape your notice." The boy didn't show any signs of being baited, visibly unamused. The former favorite of the Boss sighed. "Straight to business, then?" She shrugged, seemingly nonchalant but fooling no one. "You see, Cool Guy, you didn't just disappear; there was a raid conducted by the FBI a year ago, based on some false info passed by Kir to the Bureau. You were there to help Akai Shuuichi topple our Organization. You would have succeeded then and there, if it wasn't for the fact that the info Kir passed was actually a trap; it was all an ambush."

Conan felt a chill down his spine, knowing it before Vermouth even said it. He gulped before he mused out loud, "I was supposed to be dead, wasn't I?"

The grim look on both Amuro's and Vermouth's face alerted him on their action mere moments before they actually did it; they sprang away from him, their slung gun now in their hands, aimed straight at him.

Amuro smiled humorlessly, "Why, you are correct, boy. But now is our turn; who _exactly_ are you?"

Edogawa Conan lowered his head, his glasses reflecting the light above him, his expression thus hidden from them. "Nee, didn't you tell me? I am Kudou Shinichi. And based from what you told me, and what happened to _this_ me before all this, I'd bet my whole Sherlock collection that I'm in some parallel universe where everything went wrong."

 _Guess what, Professor. You weren't entirely wrong, after all._

* * *

After a lengthy debate between two detectives with one very amused woman in the sidelines, they came into agreement that, while such a thing such as parallel universe may sound impossible, it wasn't actually impossible; it was just improbable with current technology known to (most) men. When Amuro finally came to term that this Conan wasn't actually the same Conan as their own, he was too curious to not know what it was like on the other side. Little Conan was rather reluctant in revealing a lot of things, but he was forthcoming with most, general queries.

In fact, the two got so excited discussing their own Detective Samonji series, which apparently had some changes. Their discussion got so out of hand that Vermouth had to slap the back of their heads, if none too gently on Amuro's and gently on Conan's.

"We have other things to discuss, you know," the woman admonished them like two misbehaving, mischievous children. "Like how to get you back home."

They sobered when she said that.

Various theories were thrown around. Among the suggestions were: creating a similar machine (quickly vetoed by Vermouth and Amuro who said that they just didn't have the materials, energy or manpower required for operating it), killing Conan (vetoed by said boy, adamantly refusing for fear of actually stranded, and dying for real; he wasn't keen on finding out, thank you very much), or using some magic mumbo jumbo (vetoed by Amuro and Conan, both of whom believed that it was more like a wild goose's chase).

As they discussed it, time flew. It was afternoon when Conan regained consciousness, and now it was early evening when they eliminated the possibilities. The shrunken Kudou Shinichi wouldn't have thought that he would get so well with either Vermouth or Amuro (who was Bourbon). They tend to discuss each other's lives, if only to compare the two worlds; what happened or what didn't happen, who were killed or who were still alive or who were missing, and so on.

From their lengthy talks, Conan could conclude that most events were the same; him being shrunk by the APTX, living with Ran in the Detective Agency, the 2-million-yen robbery that led to Akemi's death at the hands of Gin, the Sleeping Kogorou, the rigged suitcase on the super speed train, Hattori Heiji finding out his true identity during the Holmes' fans murder case, Kaitou KID and the Black Pearl and all the subsequent heists. All of the major cases were the same, even all the way until Akai's (faked) death at the Raiha Pass, the Mystery Train, even into Okiya's true identity. The similarities astounded Conan. To think that somewhere, similar worlds with different outcomes could exist. A thought passed his mind in his musings. _This world might not be the only one parallel universe. Who's to say that there are or aren't other parallel universes._ The possibilities were dizzying. Were all Conans or Shinichis like him? Were they more fortunate, able to live their lives as their teenaged counterparts? Or perhaps, were they even more unfortunate than he, to die early due to the APTX itself, or their loved ones dying because of him?

He was snapped out of his musings when he felt a hand land on his shoulder. He started, jumping slightly. The boy whipped around so fast that it was a wonder that he didn't get whiplash. His blue eyes were wide, his heart pounding in chest, pumped by adrenaline. He sagged when he noticed that it was only Amuro. "Yes?" he forced out, mentally cringing at how it sounded like his usual kiddy voice.

Amuro suppressed a smile, and he knew that Conan knew he knew. "Kudou-kun, you're going to be left behind."

Conan blinked. He saw the silhouette of Vermouth in the distance, standing with her gun slung on her back, her right hand on her hips. "Ah, sorry. I was lost in thought," he apologized, jogging toward Vermouth.

Amuro chuckled as he also jogged along the boy. "Much penny for your thoughts, eh?"

The Heisei Holmes nodded. "These parallel universes stuff is new to me," he elaborated, "I used to only believe in things that actually make sense, and inter-universe travel or portal wasn't one of them. Well, at least until I _got myself in_ , that is."

Amuro hummed thoughtfully. "Is it all that surprising?"

Conan shrugged as he jogged. "For me, at least. I don't know about you, Amuro-san, but it never crossed my mind, and now I have to actually think about how to get back." He turned his eyes to the sky, watching the small, twinkling stars in the dusk sky. "Come to think of it, where was I, anyway?"

Amuro snapped his head, almost tripping a stray pebble in the process. Conan blinked at his reaction. "What do you mean, "where"? I thought you were there often, even on the other world."

Conan blinked repeatedly, his mind trying to come up with a place he was familiar with. _He_ was the one stumbling when he pieced it together. "You mean that was _Agasa's_?!"

Amuro raised an eyebrow at his outburst, and opened his mouth reply when Vermouth crashed into him. He grunted as his back fell to the uneven, hard ground, and was about to protest when the gunshots came.

* * *

Vermouth berated herself. She knew that Gin would find them, sooner more than later, and yet she lowered her guard just enough for Vodka to sneak a peek at Amuro. The only thing that alerted her to the arrival of the brute was because he stepped on a tiny dry branch, and her sharp hearing to even hear it. Even so, she was too slow to stop Amuro from getting injured, no matter how slight; he his forehead was grazed diagonally, the blood already trickling down, forcing him to close his eye to prevent the blood from getting into it.

After the first gunshot, the following gunshots were quick to follow. The three reflexively dropped to the ground, flattening themselves as flat as they could to the ground.

"Who—?!"

"No time for that, Kudou-kun; it's _them_!"

Conan heard a dark, malicious chuckle from the dark. He turned his head, just now seeing the silhouettes, one of which he immediately recognized. Now, Kudou Shinichi—shrunken or not, was not stupid, and he tended to keep his knowledge of the Organization's members a secret from people _even remotely_ look or feel like them. In this world, however, with his (the _other_ him, to be precise) cover blown, he had no such qualms.

"Gin," he growled, his eyes burning with the grudge long suppressed. Despite the seriousness of the situation, the boy could not help but feel strangely light, the burden of his anger being inflicted into word at said person he held the grudge to.

"Kudou Shinichi," the silver haired man replied, his tone ice cold, dark anticipation in it. As he paused, his favorite Porche 356A's front lights were turned on, casting a shadow on his left side (as the car was on his right). "To think that you survived after all this time. You're like a cockroach; just how many times do I have to kill you for you to stay dead?" He grinned maniacally. "Ah, the traitors Vermouth and Bourbon."

Vermouth returned his dark looks with her own. "Gin," she said spitefully. "How I longed to tear that smug look off your face." Amuro said nothing, showing his reply in his deepening frown instead.

The silver haired cold blooded killer's grin turned even wider, threatening to split his face in halves. "You don't know how much I want to see your crimson blood paint the pavement, bathing the road with sign of your betrayal." As he paused, other members showed themselves by his side; Vodka and Kir at his right, Korn and Chianti at his left, each holding their favored firearms, the snipers for once preferring rifles instead of their sniper rifles. "With your deaths, the Organization will be clean again, and we'll shade the world under our shadows once more, without pesky foxes or rats among us."

Conan rose to a crouch, his heart clenching. He didn't want to believe what Vermouth and Amuro had told him, but he resigned when he saw how Mizunashi Rena (AKA Hondou Hidemi) or Kir was standing there with the same glint in her eyes. "Nee, Kir, let me ask you something," he glowered with his eyes, his face otherwise flat, "Why?"

Kir smirked. "Oh? It's petty, actually. Because the Organization provided for me what the CIA _and_ FBI could not."

"And that is?" the boy coaxed, not bothering to be subtle about it. Screw subtleties; if he was to die, he wanted to know what went wrong that made her turn on them. Did their plan fail, after all?

"They were competent. A lot more competent than those two despicable intelligence organizations." The woman scowled darkly. "I signed Eii to the FBI's Witness Protection Program, and got Akai's reassurances that _no harm_ would touch my brother. I was happy to comply with my father's mission; I still submitted reports on the Organization to the CIA, and the FBI, whenever I could slip some. I communicated with Eii under the pretenses that he was a fan of me because I look a lot like his sister. Then, one day, I felt his communication was off, like it wasn't him at all. I requested that we video call with generic background, but he denied me. It was then I knew something was amiss. Eii wouldn't turn down my request to video call through an encrypted, untraceable network while I used some rather private internet café.

"On the first chance I could, I contacted the CIA to ask about my brother's wellbeing. My colleagues pretended to not know him, but I know I could hear that wavering in his voice, so I asked FBI, the one I asked to protect Eii. They said that he was fine, and I requested to have a video call as soon as possible. They agreed, and I was so relieved to know that it was just a false alarm. Some months later, he messaged me (as a big fan of Mizunashi Rena), and asked for me to review his work. It was all a ploy; it was the only way we could think of that would allow us to communicate with each other, no matter how cryptic. I was so elated; it had been months since the last time I caught wind of his words, directly or indirectly. I video called him. But, when we were seeing each other through the monitor, something was wrong with him."

Conan had connected the dots by now. "It wasn't actually Eisuke-kun, was he?"

Kir scoffed. "That's right. I found out that he was just someone masquerading as Eii with Agasa's voice changer. It was all because he answered wrong when I joked about how clumsy he was when he was a kid, and how he got better with it in time; he was supposed to be still a klutz by then. When he affirmed my words, my suspicions were proven correct. I was furious, and I demanded the truth from him then and there. Eii was the last of my family; my parents were dead—he was all that I had left when I leave the Organization. Then he spilled how he messed up, and caused Eii's death. It was so trivial of a mistake. One even worse than mine that cost me my father's life." The former newswoman paused, inhaling sharply to control either her anger or grief. "The Organization was about to dispose of me, when the Boss offered to pardon me. I was about to turn it down and kill myself than spilling secrets of the CIA to the Organization when they offered that they had found a way to bring Eii back. They proved it. I couldn't believe it myself; I tested him with various knowledge that only he would know, hoping that his answers would be right. And they were, even when Eii was surprised to hear that he was dead or he was under the FBI's witness protection, saying that he had rejected it. Even through the video, I was happy to hear and see him alive again. I was confused with his statement for a while, but they didn't let him speak more than that, and closed the connection off."

Amuro scowled. "And so you agreed to flush out the Organization from NOC."

Kir shrugged. "Well, I had to repay the Organization somewhat. They brought him back to me. I couldn't care less about anything."

Conan interjected, "There's nothing that could bring back the dead; he could be a clone, given his memories."

Kir didn't respond, but her faltering expression told them that it didn't cross her mind.

Gin seemed to sense her hesitation, and thus with a scowl, aimed his gun at the boy. "Enough chatter." He glowered at the defiant boy. "It is time to send you to the other side."

Conan had to force himself to calm down, even when his heart was still hammering in his chest. He had to remain calm as his mind pieced together the pieces, the words forming in his mind. _Gin didn't want her to know something. And if that something is the same thing as what I thought, it could make the difference between on which side she would choose._ "I don't think so, Gin," he said, standing up slowly, "You don't want Kir to learn something, and I bet it has something to do with this," the detective smirked when he saw how rigid Gin was becoming, "she could switch sides, and with how many moles you had exposed, your Organization is now rather low on high ranked members, and thus you could not afford to lose her."

The murderer glared, pressing his hand to the trigger. Conan felt the bullet pierce his left shoulder, causing him to stagger despite being crouched. He smirked despite the pain in his bleeding shoulder, the boy could feel the tension in the air, knowing that the next bit is the one that would tip the balance of the scale. When he noticed the slightest tensing of Gin's general gun arm, he shouted, "That Eisuke was an Eisuke from an alternate reality; he wasn't _your_ Eisuke!"

The gunshot was accompanied with countless more of its kind.

* * *

Vermouth laughed openly. One would think that she had gone bonkers if they heard how she laughed in the middle of a shot out. The woman could feel Amuro practically rolling his eyes on her antics if he could his eyes off the battlefield for even a second. But she didn't care about anyone's opinion right now.

 _That was devious of you, Cool Guy. Perhaps you_ are _our Silver Bullet, after all._

* * *

When Conan shouted the last bit of information, Gin immediately shot him, and he crumpled to the ground. Due to her position, she could not see where the bullet had landed. The second he fell, though, Kir shot Gin's left hand, forcing him to drop his gun. The man cursed, quickly turning and ducking at the same time. Vodka was aiming his gun at Kir when Amuro shot him dead in the head. The brute's body fell like a puppet with its strings cut into the hard ground with a _thud_. Chianti tried to shoot and Vermouth, but her rifle slowed her down enough for Vermouth to get a couple of shots at her; at her stomach, her shoulders, and her chest. The female sniper was avenged by Korn who shot Vermouth's chest. The woman grunted as she felt her ribs facture from the force. It was because of she wore vest underneath that she was spared. The woman tsk-ed and shot Korn in the eye through his one of his googles. The sniper was thrown back and he didn't get back up. Gin had punched Kir hard in the face, forcing her to fall, dropping her gun. Amuro wrestled with Gin when he was about to get the gun Kir dropped.

Seeing his struggle against Gin, and knowing the latter's ruthlessness in hand-to-hand or armed combat, Vermouth aimed, knowing of the last bullet in the magazine of her rifle. The rifle was lighter than either Chianti's or Korn's, but she wouldn't get enough time to reload and retake aim before Gin would have thrown Amuro off. She had to make that one bullet count.

As she was taking aim, Kir glanced up from her crouched position. She took in the battlefield, no matter how hard it was to actually see in the dark. Vodka was dead, that much is clear. The trickling blood from his forehead was pretty much a fatal wound that killed him instantly. Both snipers, Chianti and Korn, were dead, too. The new traitor of the Organization noted with some satisfaction that the _bitch_ of a sniper had multiple bullet wounds. Oh, scratch that, Chianti was still alive, no matter how barely. She'd take care of that soon enough. She noted with regret that the shrunken detective was lying face down, unmoving, with a pool of blood under his body, his clothing getting soaked with the crimson life liquid. Her head still dizzy, Kir forced herself to stand, and she took Korn's own rifle, grabbing it by the muzzle (thankfully cool enough by now).

Kir smirked down at Chianti's downed form, even as the other woman glowered back, no matter how weakened she was by the pain and blood loss. "Let me tell you, Chianti; payback's a bitch," Kir murmured. With that, she proceeded to bash the sniper with the butt of the rifle repeatedly. Chianti tried to fight back using a small knife she had hidden in Kir's own boot, stabbing her calf. Kir winced, but didn't let up with her beating. With a few more powerful bashes, the female sniper lied dead, her face hard to recognize among the bloody mess.

As she limped to lean on Gin's favorite, antique car, she suddenly felt something crashing into her and dragging her back. Kir let out a yelp in surprise before the familiar texture of Gin's hand registered in her brain. The man was scrambling to strangle her from behind, even as he himself was staggering around. Kir struggled to maintain her grip on the rifle she was holding. Gin was gripping at her throat with one hand, and his other hand was trying to wrest the control on the rifle. She choked before she tried to dislodge him by elbowing him to no avail. Gin then forced her to face the car, his body shielded behind hers.

When she was turned to face the car's fuel tank, the silver haired man pulled the trigger.

The night landscape was bathed in the light of the flames, accompanied with the sound of explosion, a female, charred body thrown by the force of it. The man covered by the now dead woman had his hair singed in places. With great effort, he tried to turn and take down at least another one. However, he never even got the chance to even _look_ at Vermouth when the last body thudded with the sharp, explosive sound of a gunshot.

A pale strand of silver hair drifted in the wind.

It wasn't the end, not by a long shot, but perhaps they would get to be free. Or have another chance at life. It wouldn't be easy, no. But the two knew that they couldn't just give up when the price was _this_ high.

* * *

In another world, a certain young boy jerked awake in the hospital. He was told by his long-time friend and neighbor that he showed up out of nowhere with some serious injuries, namely some bullet wounds in the shoulder, and in his chest, a little too close to his heart for comfort. The wounds were strangely much swallower than they should have, but none of them wanted to look at the gift horse in the mouth. Despite the rather serious injuries, there was little damage to major organ or bone or blood vessels, and he would be ready to come home soon, much to relief of the three actual kids, one faux child, an elderly man, a mid-aged mustached man, and a high school girl.

When the boy was secretly asked by the faux child on how he got back, she was answered that an armored, strawberry blonde woman came and dragged him, saying how his experience proved how humans were not meant to parallel universes. _One universe was hard enough to keep track of_ , she had said, pissed off, and despite not showing it in her face, it was audible in her voice. _Some things weren't meant to be learnt by mankind._ But he wasn't sure, saying that things were vague, he could barely remember his journey on the other side.

With some well wishes, the boy was left alone with promises of their return on the next day's visiting hours. The boy cheerfully agreed, and bade them farewell. As the door was closed, he suddenly felt tired. He turned to his side, facing the window and turning his back on the bedside table. The pale, silvery moon shone its light down on his face, and with a serene look on his face, the faux child curled up slightly before drifting off to sleep.

At the bedside table of the lone hospital room, rested a single, large, pure white feather circled by some pink rose petals…

* * *

 **Translation notes (Japanese name format):**

 **Mou = "** geez".  
 **-kun** = suffix; generally used to refer to young(er) boys whom one is familiar with.  
 **-chan** = suffix; generally used to refer girls whom one is close with (as in, "good friend" close, at least).  
 **-san** = suffix; generally polite, and can be used to refer those older, or someone one respects or barely/just knows.  
 **-neechan** = suffix; means "older sister" but could also mean "young lady" or "miss".  
 **Kaitou** = "phantom thief".  
 **Heisei** = current era (Japanese)  
 **nee** = "hey"

 **A/N: It's me again. Due to my tendency to be lazy, I asked a friend (see above) to provide me with prompts/challenges to be completed in one week (thank my other friend, Chiita, who is the first one to ask that friend to give her (drawing) challenges). There won't been any for next week, as I have to prepare for my schooling. The ending isn't what I had in mind when I first started to write, but I have to say it's not half bad (to me). Let me know what you think. Don't forget to thank both of my friends (even only mentally) as they help inspire me to write.**

 **Oh, and kudos to people who find Lightning saga (Final Fantasy) references. (Do tell me of your find; I'm curious).**

 **Cheers,**

 **C. Rinkuki Takato**


End file.
